


Haunted

by danpuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27946346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danpuff/pseuds/danpuff
Summary: Harry Potter haunts Spinner's End.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 75





	Haunted

At first, Severus thinks it a figment of his imagination. 

Movement. A flash of color in his peripheral. Severus’s eyes flicker briefly up from his paper. Paleness, untidy black, vivid green - Severus blinks and folds the paper down. Looks up properly. But he’s gone. 

Severus is on his feet in an instant, across the room in another. He peers through the cracked door. The kitchen is empty. 

* * *

The next time Severus sees those green eyes, it is only a dream. He wakes, panting, sheets tangled around his legs. Wearily he rubs his face. Stares up at the ceiling. He ignores the racing of his heart. Ignores the throbbing between his legs. 

The moonlight shining through the window is enough to trace the cracks in the wall. The torn wallpaper. He does not close his eyes again for a long time. Tries valiantly to banish full pink lips with a red book. Soft sighs with the sound of the wind. Warm skin with cool cotton.

* * *

It is not the green he sees next, but the shock of black hair. It is barely dawn and Severus is in the garden, coaxing it back to life with charms and potions as his Muggle neighbors sleep. It is the sense of being watched that draws his eyes to the house. Up to the second story. 

Hand flat against the window. The unmistakable hair. His heart catches in his throat. Severus is frozen for only a moment, then he strides into the house. Races upstairs. The brat is in his house. In his bedroom. How? And why?

There is no trace of Harry Potter. Severus searches the house high and low. “ _Homenum Revelio!_ ” Still nothing. Severus curses. His wards have not been breached.

* * *

Severus half-fears the boy is dead. He is both irritated and relieved to learn he is not. Convenient that an Order meeting is that same night. He sees the boy lingering in the hall. Glaring at him. Severus wants to confront him, but does not dare to. Not yet. 

A seventeen year old boy cannot breach his wards. He cannot have slipped out from under the Order’s noses, regardless of how reckless and selfish he is. It might only have been his imagination, afterall. 

Merlin knows he thinks of the boy more often than is wise.

* * *

Severus sees the boy while he is brewing. Chops his flobberworms. A flash of blue t-shirt. Slim body fleeing through the doorway. Severus clutches his knife. Resists the urge to chase him. 

Severus sees the boy in his dreams. More and more often now. When he wakes, he does not remember much. Words and actions slip away from him, leaving behind only impressions. Calloused fingers on his face. Shy smile. Severus remembers the exact shade of green the boy wore and the way it brought out his eyes, more than he remembers anything else.

Severus hears the boy’s laughter when he reads in bed. Sits up in a flash. Hears the echoes of his snickering. Wand in hand, he stares around the room. Stares and stares even as the silence rings in his ears.

Severus sees the boy when he reads in the living room. His ankle is crossed over his knee. He sits in his armchair like a throne. The boy crouches beside the couch. Tufts of his hair can be seen over the arm. Sparkling green peek around at him. Severus does not blink when he jumps to his feet, but when he approaches he finds nothing.

* * *

Severus sees the boy at Grimmauld Place, where he belongs. Cannot resist the urge to taunt the boy. “Staying out of trouble, Potter?” 

“So far,” the boy’s tone is dry. 

“So far, _sir_ ,” Severus corrects. 

Potter scowls at him. “ _Sir._ ”

“You must be feeling restless, cooped up in this tomb,” Severus drawls. Potter only stares at him. He doesn’t move, not even to step back as Severus approaches. Looms over him. He only tilts his head back to maintain eye contact. Severus does not let his gaze drop down to his mouth. “But surely even our fearless hero has not been adventuring. Not when so many are working so hard to keep his hide intact.” 

“Of course not. _Sir_.” Potter’s face is too blank. Severus does not believe him.

* * *

The boy cannot be dead. Potter is not a ghost. So mad has Severus been driven, he checks with the Order more often. Pops into Grimmauld Place more often. He is not aware of how sick he is with worry until the boy is in sight. 

Someone would tell him if Potter were dead. Were the boy captured or killed he would know, from the burning on his arm or the ghostly phoenix with Albus’s voice. He would know, but he cannot rest easy without confirmation. 

Potter laughing with his friends in the Grimmauld Place library - eyes flicking up to meet his. There is a glimmer in those depths that spells trouble. When he sees those eyes again at night, at Spinner’s End, he says nothing. Holds them in the mirror as he slowly brushes his teeth. The boy peers at him around the doorframe. He is gone the time Severus finishes. 

The Harry of Spinner’s End becomes bolder. Lingers longer. Only watching. Sometimes he laughs and the sound pierces through Severus’s heart. Once he even whispers, “ _Severus_ ,” at night while he is lying in bed. Severus closes his eyes. Sleep does not come easy, but when it does Potter finds him there, too. “ _Severus._ ”

* * *

It is the middle of the night when he turns up at Grimmauld Place. He has just left the Dark Lord; leaves a message with Lupin. Sees Potter in the kitchen as he passes. Against his better judgment he stops. Stands in the doorway as Potter has done these past weeks. The boy’s back is to him for several minutes. 

Severus dares not approach the boy at Spinner’s End, lest he run away. Severus does not dwell on why he suffers the boy’s presence. Now, he takes his time, looks his fill. Short. Skinny. Shorter and skinnier in the oversized pajamas. Potter pauses in his work to scratch at his head, leaving a dusting of flour in the blackness. Flour and spilled extract all down his front as he turns. Potter wipes his face with his arm - his glasses are pushed upwards - Severus presses a hand to the door frame to steady himself. 

“Snape,” Potter says, surprised. 

“I thought you inherited a house elf,” Severus says, a pointed look to the loaf pan Potter clutches. 

Potter’s mouth twists. It is a moment before he says stiffly, “I like to bake.” 

“Do you.” 

Potter eyes him, but says nothing as he slides the pan into the oven. He sets about cleaning up his work station as Severus moves closer. The boy glances at him nervously. He is scrubbing a bowl clean when Severus steps up behind him. His motions stop. 

Since summer began, Severus has been going mad. Or evidence of his madness has become clearer. Seconds tick by as they stand together. Potter clutching sponge and bowl. Severus standing too close behind him. When he tilts his head down, the tips of Potter’s hair tickle his nose. He can smell his shampoo - the scent is fresh and bright. Severus lifts his hands - sets them on the counter, caging Potter in. Better than touching the boy - why he thinks about touching him, he isn’t sure. 

“You’re up to something,” Severus snarls into his ear. Potter shivers. Heat curls low in his belly. “And I’m going to sniff you out.” 

Potter swallows. Hesitantly turns his head. The motion causes Severus’s nose to brush against his cheek. Potter’s eyes are all the greener this close. More depth to the color. Spots of darker green around the pupil. His breath smells sweet. Like he’s tasted whatever he mixed up tonight. 

Severus licks his lips. Wonders what it is, what it tastes like. Potter’s eyes drop - his breath catches. Severus’s breath freezes. Potter’s face flushes. He swallows. Horror settles in when Potter’s eyes meet his, curious and -

“Do behave, Potter,” Severus manages to whisper. His tone is huskier than he means it to be. He strides away with his head held high, even as he crumbles inside.

* * *

Severus does not quite sleep that night. Manages only a hazy between state. Rustling beneath the bed has him grasp his wand. He peers over the edge. “Potter?” he says.

Glittering eyes. Coy smile. Head and neck pop out. Severus clutches his wand tighter as his wrist twitches. The word catches in his throat. The boy pulls himself further out. Sits up on his knees. Arms rest on the mattress, chin propped on them. Severus steadies his wand. “ _Riddikulus_.”

The flirty smile turns soft and sweet. “I love you.” 

It is not funny, but Severus’s bitter laugh is enough to banish the boggart.


End file.
